


A Butler's Advice

by Mice



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Angst and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-08
Updated: 2011-05-08
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mice/pseuds/Mice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seppings notices a few things about young Master Bertie. And about Jeeves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Butler's Advice

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Совет дворецкого](https://archiveofourown.org/works/661269) by [Dreaming_Cat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreaming_Cat/pseuds/Dreaming_Cat)



> Plotbunny ravishing and brilliant beta by random_nexus. Seppings made me do it.

It would not have been obvious to anyone else, but Paul Seppings was nothing if not an astute observer. A butler had to be, of course. He'd seen that look in many an eye before; it was the look of a young man who believed he would never have what he desired. This particular variant was on the still, solemn face of Reginald Jeeves.

Service over dinner was a time when such gazes often appeared. The family, of course, never paid attention to servants. There were occasional exceptions, but this was the rule; this was the world as it was supposed to be. Notice would mean that something had gone wrong, and that was completely unacceptable. Seppings directed the footmen and valets as the main course was served, reassured Chef Anatole that his creations were being enthusiastically received, and made certain that service was impeccable at table. He had never needed to correct Jeeves -- the man was grace itself, and the training he'd had from his Uncle Charlie was a part of that, as though it ran through his veins. When young Reginald Jeeves had been put before the Junior Ganymede for membership, Charlie Silversmith's recommendation was a guarantee of his acceptance. He had quickly proved himself worthy.

Yet, there was that gaze.

Seppings had watched the two of them for the past three years, since Jeeves had come into Mr Wooster's service. There had been nothing discernable there initially beyond a fond, somewhat indulgent compatibility between master and man, but over time something deeper and less ordinary had developed. He'd seen it in Mr Wooster first, having known him since he was in nappies. What had surprised him had been the changes in Jeeves. By last year it was impossible to deny what he'd suspected. Now, however, he could almost feel an ache in the air between them. It was quite nearly painful to watch. It was also obvious that neither of them understood the situation and that something ought to be done. The question was, what?

This was a question that could not be answered during dinner.

***

Opportunity presented itself rather more quickly than Seppings expected. Fortune favored the resolute, he supposed; once decided that he should take some action, the universe had opened a path before him. He had certainly spent enough time watching, uncommitted. It was not his business, after all, what did or did not happen between Mr Wooster and his valet. That said, he was quite fond of both young men and didn't care to see them struggling so.

The family and guests were finally abed for the night when Seppings made his quiet final rounds. It was his duty to assure that all doors and windows were locked, that the rest of the staff was done with the night's work and off in their own proper places, and that everything was in readiness for the beginning of work in the early hours. A flicker of orange light drew his attention as he made his final pass from the butler's pantry.

Jeeves sat alone in the dim, unlit kitchen, smoking by the ancient fireplace, silent in the moonlight as the bricks around him.

Seppings put his keys in his pocket and took up a chair, placing it nearby. "Reginald."

Jeeves looked up, tired, his face creased by shadow. "Good evening, Paul."

"You're looking pensive."

"It's nothing." Jeeves made a dismissive gesture with one hand and offered a cigarette, which Seppings accepted.

Seppings let Jeeves light it for him, drawing the flame and allowing the smoke to rise in a slow, curling plume. "You needn't play such games with me. There's no call for it."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Paul," Jeeves said, his voice smooth and seemingly unaffected. He had slipped the mask back on, which was as telling as any more overt reaction might have been.

"Why don't you just talk to him?" Jeeves went completely still, a slight widening of his eyes the only real sign of his alarm. Seppings took another puff from the cigarette. "He'd welcome it, you know."

"I haven't any idea what you're talking about," Jeeves insisted, his voice suddenly cold.

Seppings sighed. "Please, Reginald, don't do me the dishonor of lying to me about this. I mean no harm to either of you. I've known Bertram his entire life and if there were ever a young gentleman who would treat you properly, he's the one. I think he would do nearly anything for you."

Jeeves crushed the butt of his cigarette against the brick of the fireplace, watching Seppings cautiously. "Nothing is happening, Paul," he said, soft and wary. " _Nothing_."

Seppings chuckled. "Yes, I know. That's why I'm telling you this."

Jeeves finally looked away, staring into the deep blackness of the fireplace as he flicked the butt into the bucket beside it. "What gave me away?" His voice was resigned. "Do you plan on blackmail, or just having me dismissed? There is no proof of anything untoward."

"For God's sake, boy," Seppings said, frustrated, "you usually listen far better than this. You've been mooning like a lovesick calf for at least a year though, no, it's not obvious unless someone is actively looking for it. Young Wooster's quite besotted with you, and you'd know that if you weren't so thoroughly besotted yourself." Jeeves looked back up at his face, a calculating look in his eyes. "I've known about him for years, Reginald. Most of the staff does, actually. His family are the only ones who haven't figured it out, though I suspect Miss Angela is fairly close to having a bit of a revelation. I don't think it would upset her much, really. She likes him enough that she might even decide to help him, though that would just as likely go badly, given how the family is where he's concerned."

An eyebrow rose. "No one has attempted to expose him?" There was anxiety and some surprise in Jeeves's voice. He was obviously worried about his gentleman; Seppings regarded this as a good thing.

"Good Lord, no. You know how fond we all are of him." He shook his head. "With the exception of Miss Angela, his family's never been terribly kind to him, so we do what we can beneath their noses. Sadly, not even Mrs Travers particularly cares about him." Jeeves nodded. He'd seen it himself, after all, Seppings knew. "And _that woman_..." He shivered. "I would hate to consider what she'd do to him if she ever found out."

"I would never allow that to happen," Jeeves murmured, anger and determination in the line of his shoulders. "I would make him leave the country -- I would smuggle him aboard ship in a trunk if I had to. I would face her myself before I would allow her to harm him."

Seppings nodded. He had no doubt that Jeeves would try to deflect Mrs Gregson's wrath from Mr Wooster were it possible; that kind of commitment was extraordinary and worthy of recognition. "I know." He dropped the smoldering remains of his own cigarette into the bucket. "He's a sweet, decent young man, Reginald, and that's why you're the only one I would trust him to. He's much more discreet than you might imagine; I warned him myself."

***

 _Master Bertram and his friend Richard Little had their hands in one another's trousers when Seppings opened the door. Thirteen year old boys were prone to such things, of course, but someone had to put the fear of God into them, if only for their own safety. Bertram had no father to do so, and his uncles were unlikely to take such a responsibility seriously. Seppings knew his would be the only instruction the poor lad was likely to ever receive. After giving Master Little a stern reprimand and sending him on his way with a dire warning in his ear if a word regarding these circumstances were ever heard, Seppings had taken Master Bertram aside. He was only the underbutler and, technically, not supposed to speak to a member of the family unless the butler was away, but he could not allow this to pass for fear of the potential consequences._

 _"Most lads outgrow this sort of thing," he said, sighing as he sat the boy down behind a locked door. "Some, however, do not. You must be aware that if you are ever found out by unsympathetic parties, your entire family will be disgraced and you will be sent away. If you are truly unfortunate, you may also find yourself in prison and sentenced to hard labor; it is possible you might die in there. Because I never want to see you in such straits, young man, I will give you the following advice, and I suggest you apply it to the letter._

 _"You must always lock your door. Always. Had your aunt, Mrs Gregson found you like this--"_

 _Master Bertram paled. "No, no, please, Seppings, you can't say anything to her! She's a dragon! She'll eat me on a crumpet or something, with her tea!"_

 _"I would never tell her or anyone else, Master Bertram, but there are many others who would. And Mrs Travers, although she is kinder to you, would likely not look upon these activities with any approval either, so you must hide them from her, as well."_

 _"Wh-what about Angela?" The poor child looked half-terrified._

 _"From everyone, Master Bertram," he said, as gently as he could. "There are people in the world far more cruel than Mrs Gregson, and they would want very much to harm you or even kill you, and any friend you were caught with, so you must be careful, and you must be quiet. Doors must be locked between you and the world, you must keep as silent as possible, and you must be very, very certain the friend you are with can be trusted. If you are one of those lads who has romantic feelings for other boys, it will be a very difficult life for you. The law will be against you, as will the church and society. At the very least, you will have to pretend an interest in girls. Such things can shift suspicion away from you and help keep you safe."_

 _"You mean, I can't ever trust anyone?" Bertram asked, plaintive and afraid. "I'm just... I'm not sure I could ever like a girl the way I like Bingo."_

 _Seppings put a hand on his shoulder. "You may trust me, but you must never speak to me in front of anyone else because you know only the butler is supposed to talk to the family. You must only come to me when I am alone, so that no one will overhear our conversations. I will let you know if it's safe to talk. We hear a great many things belowstairs, Master Bertram, and servants always know more than you think. I'll protect you as best I can, I promise, but there is only so much an underbutler can do."_

***

Jeeves sat next to the fireplace with his arms resting on his thighs, his shoulders bent. He stared into the dark belly of the brickwork, looking as though the entire house had fallen upon him. "Does anyone else know?" he asked. His voice was rough and resigned.

"About you? Not that I'm aware of." Seppings eyed the young man with concern. "Those of us who know Mr Wooster's... personality quirks would certainly not disapprove, if that's what you're asking. You know you're quite well-liked here."

"Well-liked as a normal man and well-liked as an invert are two entirely different propositions." There was a hint of bitterness to his voice that did not surprise Seppings. He'd seen men suddenly become pariahs upon such a discovery; it was a genuine risk, above and beyond any legal consequences. Even without the threat of two years of hard labor, a valet about whom such a rumor surfaced would never work again. It would not even have to be the truth to ruin a man.

"Ordinarily, this would be true," Seppings agreed, "but given how fond the staff is of Mr Wooster, and how well you look after him and keep him out of trouble, I believe certain things would be much more likely overlooked for you than for anyone else." He leaned back in his chair, watching Jeeves's reactions to his words. "Regardless, I'm not suggesting that you make any admissions. I am, however, offering the observation that I am always the last person abed in the house, and that you have been given your own room here because of the regard in which the staff and the family hold you. There is no one to be disturbed if you were to take Mr Wooster a late night tray from time to time. You're well aware of the household schedule."

"I... see." Jeeves looked at Seppings, uncertain.

"Talk to him, Reginald. It doesn't have to be tonight, but I promise you that he would welcome such an overture. He cares for you immensely, even if you can't allow yourself to see it yet." Seppings rose and nodded to Jeeves, leaving the young man to his own thoughts.

***

It was inconceivable. Jeeves watched Seppings leave the kitchen, unable to believe that he had just been given what amounted to explicit permission to conduct an affair with his employer beneath the roof of Brinkley Court. Unwilling to allow himself to call upon Mr Wooster and be disappointed, Jeeves stood and left the kitchen, making his way down to the small, private room he had been assigned two years ago as his quarters during Mr Wooster's visits.

Once abed, he lay awake in the darkness, staring up at the ceiling in the dim illumination of the tiny, ground-level window above him. Spare, mottled moonlight streaked across the lower corner of one wall, casting a long shadow from the chair's leg. For three years, he had thought of the man as Mr Wooster, at first because he was an employer and a gentleman, but then because he required sufficient emotional distance to perform to the required standards without distraction.

The conversation had shaken him; he'd been unaware that his desire was written so plainly upon his visage. Jeeves rolled onto his side, staring up at the window. He could not see the sky from this angle. The thought of his gentleman haunted him: fair hair and a slender form, bright eyes, the unassuming cheer of the man's smile. He'd dreamt of him far too often, of kissing him, of the way Bertram's breath would catch, of the way he'd feel pinned beneath Jeeves's weight, their skin slick and damp as they moved together. He wanted him so very badly and had thought him unattainable and entirely forbidden. The thin pillow beneath his head was no substitute for the warmth of a lover's body in his arms. The thought was a torment.

Sleep did not come easily that night.

***

"I mean to say, Tuppy just doesn't seem terribly grateful after all we've done for him today," Mr Wooster grumbled. "We've managed to patch things with Angela, after all. Yearning hearts united and all that rot."

"It does seem so, sir," Jeeves agreed. The day had felt much longer than usual; he'd been deep in thought, disposing of the troubles between Mr Glossop and Miss Angela with somewhat more sharp alacrity than had often been the case. Seppings had silently pointed out moments when Mr Wooster had been watching him, moments of which he would otherwise have been unaware. By the end of the day, he was beginning to believe that there might be something to the man's words.

"Are you quite all right, old fruit?" Mr Wooster asked, as Jeeves hung his evening jacket in the wardrobe. "You've seemed a bit off your feed today. Slightly peaky, I mean."

Jeeves returned and began removing the studs from Mr Wooster's shirt. "Perhaps, sir." He looked up for a moment, meeting his employer's eyes. "I will admit that I have recently had a great deal on my mind."

Mr Wooster's face registered concern. "Is something wrong, old thing?"

Jeeves's hands stilled, half of the studs still in place. He feared his heart was beating so fast and rough that it could be heard aloud in the room. "I... had been given to understand, sir, that you might be amenable to a change in... in our association."

The concern shifted to an endearing bafflement. "Our association?"

"I hope you will forgive me, sir," he whispered. Before he could lose his nerve, he leaned forward, closing the slight distance between them, and pressed his lips to Bertram's. There was a momentary stillness, both of them shocked by his action, then Bertram's lips opened and he wrapped his arms about Jeeves, pulling him close and kissing them both breathless.

"God, yes, yes. Finally, yes," Bertram panted, not letting go. "How did you know? I thought you would never... God, I've wanted you for so dashed long."

"You have an ally, sir." Jeeves breathed the words against Bertram's lips.

"An al--" His head tilted. "Wait, Seppings?" Jeeves nodded and Bertram grinned. "Oh, I say. I never thought he'd actually say anything to you. I mean, I didn't even know he knew I fancied you."

"A butler is always aware of far more than you might guess, sir."

Bertram shook his head. "No, not sir. Bertie. Just Bertie, please?"

"I might be persuaded to the use of Bertram." He offered a slight smile. "Once we are home in London, of course. The risks here are too great."

"Stay with me tonight," Bertram whispered. He nibbled at Jeeves's neck and his ear, and Jeeves shivered.

"I cannot. I will not endanger you."

"Then not right now. Later tonight, when everyone else is in bed. For an hour or so maybe. That's why doors have locks, Jeeves." His voice was pleading and his caresses did not make it easy to refuse. Jeeves kissed him again, deeply, unable to resist the sweetness of his mouth and the pliant arc of his body.

"Tomorrow, when we're home once again," Jeeves insisted, running his fingers through Bertram's hair as he had so wanted to do for what felt like an age. Their faces were close, noses touching, their foreheads pressed gently together. If he stayed this close for a moment longer, he would not be able to leave at all. That knowledge was what finally drove him to movement. Bertram groaned, a quiet, pained sound.

"Please," Bertram begged, as Jeeves finished his work on the studs and let him step from his trousers. Both of them were hard and wanting, but it was not appropriate to pursue their pleasure here. Seppings might be trusted, but Jeeves found that he could not place his own or Bertram's safety in anyone else's hands. Chance had proved too strong a force in their lives on far too many occasions, much to their detriment.

"I must leave you now, sir, or I shall not be able to at all." He drew a ragged breath, struggling for control of his body.

"Then don't, dash it."

When Jeeves opened his mouth to reply, there was a knock on the door. Bertram's eyes widened and he threw himself into his pyjamas and beneath the covers, raising his knees to conceal the evidence of his arousal. Jeeves could only hold Bertram's folded trousers before his body and open the door. Mr Glossop stood outside, attired in a dressing gown. "Mr Glossop."

"What is it, Tuppy?" Bertram growled. "Can't a chap put himself to bed in this house without alarums and excursions and whatnot?"

Jeeves made to leave the room quickly, but Mr Glossop pointed at him. "No, stay here, Jeeves. I've got something to put to you. This layabout isn't likely to be able to help me, after all."

"Oi!"

And so, Jeeves spent the next forty-five minutes listening to Mr Glossop rant about Miss Angela, at the end of which time he offered a short, sharp comment that provided a solution, and Mr Glossop retired from the field. Thankfully, by approximately two minutes into the ordeal, he no longer had to worry about an incriminating physical condition. Once the door was closed again, Jeeves said, "This, sir, is why we cannot engage in any kind of unusual activities outside of our own flat with a locked door between us and your friends."

Bertram sighed, tired and defeated. "Yes, yes, I quite see your point. There shall be no further argument from this corner, old thing. Not tonight, at least. But I insist upon an immediate escape after breakfast tomorrow. I can't stomach another moment here if I can be at home snogging the life out of you." He blinked. "I don't mean literally, of course, I just--

Jeeves allowed himself a tiny smile, cherishing the image just provided. "Very good, sir." It was one he could take to bed with him.

***

Seppings watched as Jeeves loaded Mr Wooster's things into the boot of the two seater. The morning was a sunny one, brighter than yesterday. Jeeves was quiet and efficient, as always, though there was a hint of anticipation in the way he moved. Seppings bent down and grasped the handle of the last, small bag on the ground next to the Aston. "Reginald."

Jeeves turned to him and took the bag. "Thank you, Paul." He offered Seppings a smile; it was a thing he never did in front of the gentry. One never showed them one's emotions, after all, and Jeeves was particularly good at concealment.

"You spoke to him?" He watched as Jeeves placed the bag in the boot and closed it firmly.

"Indeed."

Seppings smiled back as Jeeves leaned against the motorcar and offered him a cigarette. Mr Wooster would be several more minutes; he was still speaking with Mrs Travers and Miss Angela, and such things inevitably took longer than one might expect. He took the gasper and Jeeves lit it for him. Puffing, he leaned next to Jeeves. "Good luck, Reginald."

"I appreciate your advice." Jeeves lit his own cigarette. "I owe you a debt of gratitude."

He shook his head. "Oh, no. Honestly. Just be careful, and be good to one another. That's all I ask. He needs someone who cares for him and so, young man, do you."

"Regardless--"

Their conversation was cut short as Mr Wooster came dashing out the door with Mr Glossop howling like a hound at his heels. "We're leaving _now_ , Jeeves!" he shouted, barreling toward them across the gravel drive.

Jeeves flicked his lit cigarette away and leapt into the driver's seat, starting the vehicle. It was already in gear when Mr Wooster threw himself into the passenger seat head-first, and Jeeves had it moving before he'd settled, reaching over and pulling the man all the way in by the belt of his trousers. Mr Glossop came puffing up a few moments later, shouting obscenities, only to find himself coughing on the exhaust fumes of the speeding motorcar.

Seppings covered his laugh in one gloved hand.

~~fin~~


End file.
